The Princess of Darkness
by disaohua
Summary: An update of TQOD


Book 1: The Aware  
  
Prologue: Something You Should Know, Before We Begin.  
  
On the outside, I appear the same as I appeared generations ago, my features not crinkled or smeared or sagging from the ravages of age and happiness. The God I am bound to has done this through some miracle that even I, with all of my years and experience, and Sight and Awareness, could not hope to begin to understand. On the inside however, there is nothing to be seen. I died a long time ago, but my soul remains in this flawless, static shell. I am not quite a ghost, but I am certainly no longer what I once was.  
  
When I open my eyes, I see the world as an old woman would see it. Current events may as well not exist, because I pay no attention. The past, however, that remains with me. As clear and as detailed and as sanitized as time and memory can make it; that is what I see when I open my eyes. I see the people I touched and loved and hoped for and betrayed. I find though, that living in the distant yet vivid past is more of a comfort than living in a hazy and unclear present. Maybe this is what this account is about. Then again, maybe not.  
  
One would expect that the memories of power would be the clearest memories to a person as accustomed to it as I. However, I find that the simplest memories are often the best ones. The look on one of my lover's face as he woke up next to me; watching the sunrise at the international dateline on the bow of my ship; seeing my children, already eight years old, for the first time since their birth; simple memories in a, well, not so simple life.  
  
I was not born the way I am now. I was entirely human for my first four years of life. Born to parents I'd never know, in a place I'd never recognize, under circumstances, that if I knew about now, would probably find wholly unremarkable. When you become Aware, you lose all aspects of your previous life. Who knows what would have become of the human girl Quistis if the power of this God, or whatever, had not imparted its power, its Awareness, onto me.  
  
There was nothing terribly special about that day, when I became Aware of myself, of others, of the world and the world's plan. I was merely a girl, playing on the beach in the small hours of the morning, just before sunrise. It was the only time during the day that I could be alone, and I had to be alone if I wanted to swim; my matron would never have allowed me into the water. But I loved to swim. Four years old and I could swim like a dolphin.  
  
When I felt the cool sand on my bare feet, I felt like the world had changed. The sand, with the slight moisture of morning, was different. There was an energy that I, nor any other person on earth, had ever recognized before. As if the sand was no longer sand, but the skin of a beast, pulsating and constant and alive, so very alive.  
  
I can still remember how excited I was as I ran across the beach that had suddenly come alive. I was amazed; if the sand could change over night, then no doubt the sea was different too. I ran straight into the water, tearing off my nightshirt and closing my eyes, preparing to feel the cold water strike my bare skin.  
  
It was when I opened my eyes that I knew nothing would ever be the same. Instead of running into the surf, I'd run right over it. There I was, four years old and naked as the day I was born, standing on top of the rolling surf. Fear struck me. Living sand was okay, but an ocean that I couldn't swim in? That was too much for me to take. I ran back towards the shore, my tiny bare feet splashing slightly, as if I was running through the small puddles that form during spring showers. However, no matter how far I ran, I couldn't reach the shore. As if every new step took me three steps back. I stopped suddenly, tears threatening to spill out of my eyes, but I blinked them away. For a four-year-old girl, I had pride.  
  
It was then that something strange happened. The ocean stopped moving. All the waves had ceased, settled down, and smoothed over, like a never-ending expanse of sapphire. Suddenly, the solid ocean split down the middle, right between my legs, and the two sides spiked straight up, leaving me standing on the still damp sand of the ocean floor. The sun had risen, and was moving in between the two giant peaks of solid water. I looked at the sun, the intense light like burning magnesium dazzling my eyes, blinding me. But then everything, and I do mean everything, became clear. But as soon as that happened, the two peaks of water liquefied, and came crashing down upon me. Between the horrible sight and sound of an ocean being forced upon me, I lost my breath and fell unconscious.  
  
I came to I don't know how long later, but I was no longer on the beach. I was in a puny bed, amongst a half dozen other similar puny beds in the orphanage. My matron must have found me washed up on the shore and carried me inside. I got up, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of pants, and prepared for one of Matron's tirades (to her credit, when one of the orphans were caught doing something monumentally stupid or dangerous, we always received a verbal walloping, rather than a physical.)  
  
As I walked outside, I could feel the change. I can say now, that at the moment I stepped out of the orphanage, I was no longer a four year old girl with a four year old girl's mentality. I was ageless; I was no longer innocent, but wise; my sight was no longer clouded by the haze of childish immaturity, but would be forever after continually exposed and forced to endure the most violent and sharp of all truths of this reality. For all intents and purposes, my human life was over, and the life of the creature; Quistis the Aware, began.  
  
To be sure, my Matron was not happy with me. The hysteria that had certainly gripped her as she pulled my unconscious body up from the beach had gone now, and was replaced by serious anger for disobeying her.  
  
"What did I say to you Quistis?" She wasn't shouting. Matron always tried to put some authority into her soft voice, but more often than not, failed in that respect. "Never go in the water, ever! And you deliberately disobey me. What am I supposed to do with you? You could have been killed! Do you want a spanking?"  
  
Et cetera. Poor Matron. How could she possibly understand that I was in no danger then, nor would I ever be again? I could sense that she was building her will up to brandish some of her rare but effective corporal punishment. I was in the perfect position to disarm her.  
  
I looked up, stared her right in the eye, and the words that came out were clearer than any words ever spoken by any four-year-old before, or ever would be spoken after.  
  
"Matron, I'm sorry."  
  
Those three words, I knew then, rocked Matron to the very core. She had expected a sobbing, belligerent excuse, or perhaps a mumbled "Ime thowy", heavy on the lisp that's par for the course when it comes to speaking for children my age. None of that. Matron, I'm, Sorry. The unexpected is the only thing that most people, including Matron all those years ago, cannot deal with.  
  
"Oh, uh." She didn't know what to say. The only authority figure I had ever known was lost for words. This was all at once both shocking and strangely empowering. "I guess it's alright. But never, ever do that again."  
  
I simply nodded, then turned away from Matron, and looked out to the sea. It was normal again, waves steadily lapping. The other children were playing on the shore, laughing and chasing each other. I felt a little sad then. The world that they had, it wasn't my world anymore. I would be burdened by more responsibility, more heartache, and more uncertainty than any of them ever would. I would be subject to pain, remorse, wrath, and joy, yes joy, than any of them, should they live a dozen lifetimes.  
  
"I can deal with that." I said quietly, before turning away from the beach and walking back into the orphanage.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 1: Sight  
  
Conjuring, invoking, defense and attack magic, summoning, teleportation, telekinesis, psychic abilities, flight- all of these gifts were imparted to me when the weight of the world's water crashed onto me. I was not born with any of the aforementioned. let's call them "traits." I was born with the Sight though. And the Sight has always, and will always be with me. So long as blood continues to flow through my veins, warm or cold, I will have the Sight.  
  
The Sight is not a very rare trait to possess. As I said, I was born with the Sight, most likely inherited from my human mother. And like political status and wealth, being born with the Sight is really a crapshoot of genetics, not dependent on anything except for your parents. Quite simply, some have it, some don't.  
  
But there were a few conditions that made me different from others who possessed the Sight. First, the Sight doesn't become apparent for most people until puberty: As I was essentially an adult since I was four, my first vision came somewhat early. Second, most cannot people cannot interpret a vision without the aid of a cleric, or an intermediary, such as cards, charms, or a psychotropic substance. I have not, nor have I ever needed any of these for interpreting my visions. Some things simply "are", and my visions are one of those.  
  
The first day after the incident on the beach, I was walking in the courtyard in front of the orphanage when I felt the stones path shift slightly beneath my feet, then stop. Curious, I froze, and closed my eyes. Silence. The air was stagnant, hot. A bead of sweat trickled down my temple. I kept still, eyes closed, calm, patient.  
  
Then the stones shifted again. But this time the stones didn't stop. They kept moving, vibrating, shaking with the intensity of an earthquake. The entire foundation of the orphanage shook, the walls started to tip, vines and roots tore away from their tethers. The entire building crumbled to dust around me. From the dust emerged two swords. The first, a gunblade with a blue crystal blade and silver mechanism, with a figure of a lion on top of the chamber. The second, a whip sword, a meter long and clear as a diamond, was wrapped around the gunblade.  
  
The swords floated in air, giving off an almost ethereal glow. I reached my small, pale hand out to grasp the handle of the gunblade. Just as I was about to get a hold of it, the two swords split apart. The gunblade rose high into the air, before falling and crashing to a thousand pieces on the ground. The whip sword became solid, and dove many hundreds of miles into the earth.  
  
In place of the swords were two animals, the winged lion I had seen on the gunblade, and a silver tiger. The tiger had a rose clamped between her jaws, and the two animals started to nuzzle lovingly, affectionately. Suddenly, the rose caught fire, and the animals were at each other's throats, tearing and fighting until both lay dead, their drained blood mingling on the dusty ground. The burned rose touched the blood, and suddenly became alive again. It was when I saw the rose resurrect from the blood that the vision dispelled.  
  
When I came to, I saw two boys from the orphanage, Squall and Seifer, quarreling on the far side of the courtyard. There was an object, large and rusted, lying in the dirt next to the two fighting boys. As the vision's haze lifted from my eyes, I could tell it was a gunblade. And like that, the next fifteen years of my life became as clear and as sanitized as the charts and graphs I would one day teach to classrooms of bored students. Since the lines were now learned, there was nothing left to do but recite the part.  
  
I walked slowly up to the two boys, neither of them realizing my presence until I picked up the old gunblade. Seifer was astride the chest of poor Squall who, even at that age, was smaller than most of the other children. He stopped mid-punch to sneer at me.  
  
"What do you want?" He said, a drop of saliva on his quivering chin. Squall said nothing; he just stared at me, wide eyed.  
  
"I want this." I said, hefting the weapon. Even though this was the first time I had ever seen a gunblade, my brain was already dispensing facts about the weapon as if I had spent years in the army. It was a relatively small, Galbadian military issue for light arms cavalry. About thirty years old, constructed before the recent advent of the automatic chamber. This gunblade had a standard five shot chamber for use with forty four caliber rounds. The serial number, which should have been etched along the back of the trigger, had been scratched off, indicating that this belonged to either a defector or was stolen and sold on the black market. All in all, the gunblade was a piece of outdated junk.  
  
"It's beautiful, don't you think?" I said, lifting the weapon straight into the air, before plunging the rusted tip into the disturbed earth.  
  
"It's not beautiful," Seifer said, scrambling off of Squall to grab the sword. "This is for a knight. I'm a knight." This last he said with smirk. He tried to lift the sword out of the ground, succeeded, but the weight of the gunblade threw him off balance, and sent him onto the ground.  
  
I regarded the shocked looking Seifer on the ground. I said, "You're a knight" in a such a derogatory deadpan that Seifer curled his lip and looked about ready to jump. 


End file.
